The Old Ones of Hogwarts

Chapter 607, Section 616: That Shocking Deception (9)

One figure after another fell. Blood stained the newly repaired walls, the newly paved ground, and the newly carved runes. Screams, incantations, and the low laughter of the Death Eaters echoed through the ruins of Azkaban.

The stitched-together monster led the way, its eyes darting around, scanning every corner. It didn't need to intervene—the Death Eaters were enough.

"Left wing cleared." A Death Eater ran over to report, his silver mask splattered with blood.

"There's still resistance on the right wing," another Death Eater said. "A few Aurors are hiding in the tower."

The stitched-together monster stopped in its tracks. Bellatrix's voice came from the fused half of its face: "Take care of them."

The Death Eaters charged towards the tower. The glow of spells flickered across the ruins—red shattering curses, green killing curses, purple binding curses. Walls blasted open, rubble flew, and dust billowed. Several Aurors peeked out from behind cover and returned fire, but outnumbered, they were quickly overwhelmed.

"Petrify them all!" an Auror shouted, and a gray light struck a Death Eater, who instantly stiffened and fell straight to the ground.

"Crucible!" another Death Eater retaliated, blue arcs of electricity striking the Auror, who screamed and collapsed, his body convulsing violently.

The battle grew increasingly fierce. The Death Eaters outnumbered the Aurors, but the Aurors were far more skilled, each a rigorously trained combat wizard. They fought in groups of three, back to back, providing mutual cover, their spells precise and deadly. One Death Eater was struck...

Fly, another was disarmed, a third was bound, but more Death Eaters poured out of the black smoke to fill the gaps.

"There are too many of them!" an Auror shouted, his voice filled with anxiety.

"Hold on! Reinforcements are on their way!" his companion responded, waving his wand and shooting out three beams of red light, forcing back two approaching Death Eaters.

A distant Apparition boom echoed. A dozen Aurors in scarlet robes appeared at the edge of the ruins, wands already in their hands. They were the elite of the Ministry of Magic, recently transferred from London, led by an old Auror with gray hair and a scar on his face—Kingsley Shackler.

"Spread out! Form groups of three! Don't let them get close!" Shakel's voice was calm and powerful, clearly audible amidst the noisy battlefield.

The Aurors quickly deployed into formation. Enchanted light shot from their hands, mingling with the Death Eaters' spells in the air.

Green, red, gold, blue—all sorts of colored lights flashed like festive fireworks, but each one carried a deadly intent.

One Death Eater rushed too far forward and was struck by all three spells simultaneously. His body flew out, crashed into the remaining wall, slid down, and lay motionless.

"Retreat! Retreat to the tower!" shouted one of the Death Eaters.

"No! They've blocked our escape route!" another Death Eater replied, his voice filled with fear.

Shackles personally led the advance. His wand was precise and swift, each spell striking its target. A Death Eater

One was knocked away, another disarmed, and a third bound. The Aurors behind him followed his lead, advancing step by step, forcing the Death Eaters deeper into the ruins.

"They're about to collapse!" a young Auror shouted excitedly.

As soon as he finished speaking, a muffled rumble came from underground.

The ground began to tremble.

It wasn't an earthquake, nor was it magic; it was the sound of footsteps. Countless footsteps came from the depths of the ruins, growing closer and louder.

Shakel's expression changed. "What was that sound?"

The prisoners poured out from underground.

They wore tattered prison robes, their faces were deathly pale, their hair disheveled, and their eyes burned with a mad light. Some were old prisoners who had been imprisoned for many years, some were newly captured Death Eaters, and some were pure dark wizards. But at this moment, they had only one goal: to escape.

"Get out!" a prisoner shouted. "The door's over there!"

"Kill all those Aurors!" another prisoner shouted. "If we don't kill them, we won't escape!"

The prisoners surged towards the Aurors like a tidal wave. They had no wands, but they had teeth, nails, fists, and the rage and hatred that had accumulated over countless years of imprisonment. They pounced on the Aurors, biting, scratching, attacking with every means at their disposal.

hit.

The Aurors were forced to be distracted. Some were tackled, some were bitten, and some were dragged into the crowd. The light of the spell thinned, and the formation began to break apart.

The Death Eaters seized the opportunity and launched a counterattack.

"Now! Charge!" shouted a Death Eater, pointing his wand into the sky, and a red flare rose into the air.

More Death Eaters poured out of the black smoke, from every corner of the ruins, and from behind the prisoners. They were no longer scattered individuals, but an organized and coordinated attack. Spells rained down like a storm, and Aurors fell one after another.

Shackler knocked away a prisoner who lunged at him and blocked a Killing Curse, but a Cutting Curse slashed his left arm, and blood dripped down his arm. He gritted his teeth and persevered, swinging his wand repeatedly to knock down another Death Eater.

"Shakel! To the right!" an Auror shouted.

Shackles turned and saw a stitched-together monster—not the leader, but a smaller one, pieced together from two Death Eaters—rushing toward him. Its four arms stretched out simultaneously, their claws gleaming in the morning light.

Shakel had no time to dodge.

A golden beam of light shot out from behind him, striking the monster in the chest. It let out a shrill roar, its body exploded, black liquid splattering everywhere, corroding the ground and creating craters that emitted blue smoke.

Shaker turned around and saw a phoenix.

Golden feathers, a long tail, and black eyes—Fox. It hovered in mid-air, wings spread, golden light emanating from its body, dispelling the surrounding darkness. It let out a clear cry, a sound that, though not loud, carried clearly throughout Azkaban, reaching the ears of everyone.

The Death Eaters stopped what they were doing at the same time.

"Dumbledore—" a Death Eater murmured, his voice filled with barely concealed fear.

"Dumbledore's here!" another Death Eater shouted, taking a few steps back.

The prisoners were equally terrified. They knew what that phoenix meant—Dumbledore. The invincible, greatest white wizard in the wizarding world. If he came, none of them would escape.

The Aurors seized the opportunity to counterattack. The light of the spell shone again, forcing the Death Eaters to retreat and the prisoners to scatter. Shackleton felled a Death Eater and rescued a young Auror who was being attacked by the prisoners.

"Hold on!" he shouted. "Dumbledore's coming!"

Fawkes hovered in the air, its golden light spilling across the battlefield. It let out another cry, a cry with an indescribable, warm, and peaceful power that boosted the morale of the Aurors and instilled fear in the Death Eaters.

But Dumbledore did not appear.

Only Fox.

The stitched-together monster stood atop the highest point of the ruins, all its eyes fixed on the phoenix. On Bellatrix's half-face, a slow, sinister, satisfied grin spread across her lips.

"Only the phoenix." Her voice was low and chaotic, carrying a morbid, almost manic pleasure. "Dumbledore—it really can't be done now—"

She raised an arm and pointed it at Fox. "Kill it."

Several Death Eaters hesitated. To kill Dumbledore's phoenix? That was suicide.

"Kill it!" Bellatrix's voice grew even sharper. "Dumbledore isn't coming! He can only send his bird! He's finished!"

The Death Eaters exchanged glances, then simultaneously raised their wands.

Several green beams of light shot towards Fox.

Fox deftly flipped through the air, dodging the killing curses. It swooped down, its claws slicing through the mask of a Death Eater, who fell with a scream. It took flight again, golden light emanating from its body, repelling several approaching Death Eaters.

But it only has one bird.

The Death Eaters grew in number, and the spells became increasingly dense. Fawkes dodged one after another, but its movements began to slow, and the golden light began to dim. It let out a sharp cry, its voice carrying an undisguised weariness.

Shakel knocked down a Death Eater and looked up at the phoenix. His face was grim.

He knew that Dumbledore wouldn't come.

If Dumbledore could come, he would have come long ago. He wouldn't let his phoenix fight alone, nor would he let his students and subordinates die here. Something must have happened to him—he's seriously injured, unconscious, or something worse.

But Shackleton had no time to think about any of that. A Death Eater charged at him, his wand shooting out a red glow. He blocked it, counterattacked, and knocked him down. Another Death Eater rushed at him, and another, and another.

Fox let out another cry in the air, but the sound was no longer clear; instead, it was hoarse and weary, like the final cry of an exhausted warrior.

It swooped down and rescued an Auror who was being attacked by Death Eaters, its golden light forcing the Death Eaters back. But when it took flight, its movements were noticeably slower, and its golden feathers dimmed considerably in the morning light.

The stitched-together monster stood high above, its eyes watching everything unfold. Bellatrix's voice emanated from the fused face, carrying a morbid, almost manic pleasure.

"Dumbledore—you really can't go on—"

She raised six arms and pointed at Fox.

"Kill it."

The Death Eaters simultaneously raised their wands. Dozens of green beams shot out at once, weaving a web of death that enveloped Fawkes.

Fortunately, at the last minute...

Fox tumbled rapidly through the air, its golden feathers tracing arcs in the morning light. Dozens of green killing spells swept past it, some striking the ruins and blasting them into a shower of rubble.

Some shot into the sea, creating water columns several meters high; others collided with each other, exploding into green specks of light in mid-air. Fox dodged most of them, but one grazed its tail feathers, and a few golden feathers drifted down, swirling in the air before slowly falling into the sea.

It let out a sharp cry, the sound no longer clear and melodious, but carrying a hint of pain and anger.

It flapped its wings and soared into the sky, creating distance between itself and the Death Eaters. It hovered above the ruins of Azkaban, its golden light dimmed considerably, yet it still burned stubbornly.

Shackled knocked down a prisoner who lunged at him, and looked up at the phoenix, his face growing even more grim. He knew Fawkes wouldn't last much longer. If Dumbledore really couldn't come, they might all die here today.

"Shrink the formation!" he shouted. "Move towards the tower! Defend using the terrain!"

The Aurors fought their way back, converging on the only relatively intact tower in the ruins. Enchanted lights swirled behind them as Death Eaters pursued relentlessly, prisoners scattered and fled, and Azkaban was like a boiling pot of porridge—chaotic, bloody, and insane.

Just then, a series of apparition-like explosions came from the distant sky.

A dozen figures appeared simultaneously at the edge of the ruins. They wore robes of various colors, some dark blue, some dark green, and some dark red—not Auror uniforms, but the everyday attire of Hogwarts professors.

Felius Flitwick stood at the very front, short in stature, but holding his wand aloft the highest. His face lacked its usual gentleness and humor, displaying only a serious, almost ruthless, fighting spirit.

"Hogwarts professors, line up!" His voice was high-pitched yet clear, carrying a powerful force through the noisy battlefield.

Pomona Sprout stood to his left, wand gripped tightly in her hand, her apron still stained with dirt, but her gaze was resolute, showing no sign of backing down. Beside her were several other professors from Hufflepuff, each with a solemn expression.

Horace Slughorn stood on the right, his belly slightly bulging beneath his dark green robes, fine beads of sweat on his forehead, but his hand holding his wand was steady. He glanced at the carnage on the battlefield, took a deep breath, and then nodded, as if confirming his resolve.

The other professors dispersed, each with their own spot, and each was ready.

"The Death Eaters are over there!" Flitwick pointed to the center of the ruins, where black-robed, masked figures were faintly visible among the rubble. "Their goal is to rescue the prisoners. We can't let them succeed! Spread out, three to a group, cover each other!"

“Flitwick,” Sprout began, her voice low and firm. “Professor Dumbledore…” Flitwick interrupted her, his tone calm but undeniable. “That’s enough.”

The.

He didn't say how Dumbledore was doing, whether he could come, or why he had only sent them. But everyone understood—if Dumbledore could come, he would. His absence meant something had indeed happened to him. But they had no time to think about these things, because the Death Eaters had already discovered them.

"Hogwarts people!" shouted a Death Eater, pointing his wand at the professors. "Kill them!"

A dozen or so Death Eaters broke away from the main battlefield and charged towards the professors. The light of spells flickered in their hands, green, red, and purple, weaving into a web of death.

"You bastards!" Flitwick swung his wand, and a beam of blue light shot from the tip, striking the Death Eater at the front.

The man's body stiffened, and he fell straight to the ground, his wand slipping from his hand—not a killing curse, but some kind of binding spell created by Flitwick specifically to deal with dark wizards.

It is more powerful and lasts longer than the regular "Petrify All".